


By Royal Decree

by Hyoushin



Series: [HK!!] Royal [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fic starring, Future Fic, Hina and his legs, Kage and his hands, M/M, Massages, Not Really Platonic Touching, Please Kill Me, Pre-Slash, Second years, Touching, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Volley dorks being gay for each other, massage porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9058606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyoushin/pseuds/Hyoushin
Summary: Kageyama is furious.Shouyou prays he can survive this exchange unscathed and untraumatized. (Both things are impossible, however.)





	

Shouyou enters the club room, feeling much more exhausted than usual. He flops down in a chair, hunching over as he buries his elbows in his thighs. His mouth releases a deep sigh that relays the complaints of every abused muscle in his body. It is extremely rare for him to feel like this. Shouyou supposes that the extra training he has been doing lately, during the weekends, is affecting his constitution in a manner he initially didn’t think it would.

 _I’ll have to speak with old Ukai,_ the thought forms a vague sort of gloom at the perimeter of his mind as he stares at his legs. His desire for improvement becomes, at times, a blaze too dazzling and brutal and nigh irrepressible. It has even threatened to overwhelm him before. Shouyou knows he shouldn’t let it have such power.

Shouyou breathes in and out. _One more year,_ he thinks, _and it all ends._ As a second year student, time is running out, and the necessity of being the player he has been striving to be has incited the use of reckless modes of training. Subtle tremors have invaded his limbs as he keeps staring down at himself; his eyebrows meet to carve a frown on his face. 

The familiar weight of a hand atop his head halts his rumination. Shouyou flinches from the suddenness of the touch before his head whips upwards like an animal sensing danger. He finds there, in front of him, the tall figure of Kageyama. His teammate finished changing, is ready to go, and looks very much pissed to see him dawdling. “Dumbass,” he spits out first. The insult is always ready on his tongue, even though overuse extracted all of its original bite. “You better not be ignoring me.”

“I—I wasn’t! Were you speaking to me just now? Sorry! I wasn’t…paying attention,” mumbled Shouyou, trying to wrench his head away from Kageyama’s iron-like grasp. His teammate’s scrutiny is unexpected and is possibly a portent of something Shouyou believes he should evade, but the strength and tenacity of one Kageyama Tobio rendered Shouyou’s efforts futile, and soon, he gives up. “What’s your problem?!” Shouyou shouts, “lemme go!”

“Fucking idiot,” Kageyama growls, removing his hand.

_What have I done now?!_

Shouyou recoils in fear. He has not heard that tone of voice in a truly long while. A sound that means Kageyama is _furious_. Kageyama is scary and intimidating, both inborn aspects of his demeanor, but in this moment, the quiet, cold fury blackening his expression makes him look like a murderous supernatural creature from the vilest recesses of hell. Shouyou hates being the cause of this transformation, and at the same time, prays he can survive this exchange unscathed and untraumatized. 

Kageyama spins around, stomps over to his bag, and Shouyou sees him pulling down the zipper to root about in it until he finds whatever it was he wanted to find. Kageyama returns with an object wrapped around his right fist and orders, “take off your sneakers, socks, and kneepads. _Right now_.”

“Huh?” Shouyou is nonplussed by this and wishes he could flee, but the lethal edge to his teammate’s aura compels him to comply. “O—ok.”

After baring his legs and feet under an attentive blue gaze, a surge of apprehension washes over Shouyou when he detects another pair of legs, much longer than his, bending as they spread before him—the sharp movement ending once strong knees hit the ground. Brown eyes widen at the sight—for what is happening can even be classified as out of the ordinary, so the consequent mental disarray stemming from watching Kageyama _kneel_ like that, for him, paralyzes each of his limbs.

Kageyama unfurls his fist, revealing a nondescript plastic bottle. Kageyama places the bottle beside him on the floor. He glances at Shouyou and points at his left thigh with a finger, “your left foot, put it here.”

Shouyou blinks. His perplexity has not faded. Therefore, he obeys, because absolute obedience to his partner in situations out of his control or range of comprehension is the one course of action which has never failed him. It is all about trust. And the kind Shouyou reserves for Kageyama is unlimited and unquestionable. It is so rare that many have believed it to be unnatural.

Inevitably, Shouyou tenses upon feeling Kageyama’s hands encasing his foot. The novelty of the touch almost forces a gasp out of his mouth. His perplexity and unsettlement dissipate, however, beneath the pleasant pressure Kageyama starts to apply over the sole of his foot. The tension lodging in his back and shoulders is gradually uncoiled by fingertips drawing circles over his skin. Amazement takes over as the pads of slender and callused fingers move to his ankle, relieving of discomfort secret and sensitive areas.   
  
It is exquisite, the precision behind every small motion. Shouyou drowns more telling sighs, noting that Kageyama’s countenance shows the same focus he only wears for a match, pre-match overviews, or discussions on strategies; to be its target stirs a previously dormant thing lying somewhere within his body. Shouyou bits his lower lip.  
  
Kageyama abandons his ankle to take the bottle. He uncaps it, squirting the palm of an unoccupied hand with a generous amount of the lotion. He caps the bottle, leaves it aside again. Then, he joins his hands together to rub the substance all over his palms. Kageyama inspects them, and considering they are sufficiently coated, he restores his attention to his chosen undertaking.

His large, heavy hands slide upwards. Measured, deliberate strokes unwind the muscles of Shouyou’s calf, unearthing a heretofore unknown degree of satisfaction. Shouyou surrenders his senses to the addictive lightheadedness accompanying the smoothly executed movements like an aftereffect. His eyelashes flutter, trying to prevent his eyes from closing. He is distracted, however, for an unforeseen deep stroke tears a groan—low and deafening in the silence enveloping them both—from his vocal cords.

The hands still. The cessation of his partner’s ministrations drags his mind towards the here and now. It is difficult, but Shouyou manages to center his gaze on Kageyama. Blue eyes sweep his body to settle on his face, isolating and then analyzing the bits of information he requires in order to properly proceed. Shouyou thinks Kageyama must have noticed something unusual, for he seems astounded, and perhaps, a bit uncertain.

But Shouyou wants more of what Kageyama can give.  This is the best he has felt in such a long time. “Keep going,” he mutters. His voice unrecognizable for the hoarseness altering his regular tenor.

Kageyama colors slightly as the blue in his steady gaze intensify. “Only if you stop— _stop_ overdoing it.”

“I won’t. So, _please_ ,” Shouyou pleads, “Kageyama- _kun_.”

The stationary fingers resting on the back of Shouyou’s left knee shifted, as if electrified, and they gently raise his leg to set it on Kageyama’s shoulder. Kageyama resumes with slow, broad strokes that feel much deeper than before. His hands glide up and down, left and right, encompassing the breadth of Shouyou’s thigh, sowing a constant pleasurable sensation below the layers of skin and bone.

“Take care of them,” Kageyama grumbles, “these are our greatest weapon.”

His breath caresses the inner side of his thigh, its warmth originating a shiver that ripples over Shouyou’s back.

“Feeling better?” Kageyama asks. He is not looking at what he is doing any longer. His eyes are fixed on his face, displaying the darkest shade of blue; from within, a glint too conspicuous for its brightness keeps growing.

Shouyou nods. His capability for intelligible speech vanishes while Kageyama bestows the same treatment on his right leg. He is just as careful and thorough, but the strokes upon his skin, either light or deep, somehow gain an element of haste, and before long, he is done. Kageyama picks up the bottle and stands up, looming over Shouyou, who remains seated and unmoving, feeling smaller than what he is used to.

The threat can’t be any more transparent. Shouyou flushes, and with all the sincerity he can muster, he vows, “I _won’t_ overdo it again. I swear!” if he dares to withhold even a speck, Kageyama will know and Shouyou will most definitely die.

“Don’t ever think I won’t find out if _you don’t_ keep your word,” Kageyama rumbles. He throws him an evaluating look, then steps away to towel his hands off. With clean hands, Kageyama pulls out a set of keys from one of his pockets. He tosses the keys and Shouyou catches them.

“Lock up. I’ll be waiting outside. Get a move on.”

“’kay,” Shouyou says.

Kageyama hangs his bag over his right shoulder and exits the room. Shouyou stares at his back until it is concealed by the door. Kageyama is gone. His legs go back to being his primary focus. The pale skin shimmers as he stretches and flexes them. Lightly, he trails a fingertip across the top of his left thigh. The action rekindles echoes of Kageyama’s touch. Shouyou swallows—breathes in; breathes out.

“I’ll keep my word,” he declares to the emptiness surrounding him. Shouyou thinks he must because his gut is telling him this particular brand of scolding should not be underestimated.


End file.
